


Hang Down Your Head

by sugardumbfairy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Appalachian Folklore, Background Destiel, Blasphemy, Case Fic, Dean Winchester Has Internalized Homophobia, Gallows Humor, Jealousy, M/M, STDs, and Blastphemy, brotherly bickering, religion and diners, southern slang, the small town aesthetic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27692849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugardumbfairy/pseuds/sugardumbfairy
Summary: Dean and Sam head to North Carolina to find out why the good people of Wilkesboro are reporting ghost sightings.Aka, the fic where Dean has a crisis of sexuality and Sam has a crisis of syphilis
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 14





	Hang Down Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe in the year of our Lord (?) 2020, I’m putting out another Supernatural fic, but I guess some things are harder to shake than others. Like syphilis. 
> 
> This is set shortly after the end of season 5, but does not have any major ties to overarching plots from season 6.

_ Hang down your head, Tom Dooley _

_ Hang down your head and cry _

_ Hang down your head, Tom Dooley _

_ Poor boy, you're bound to die _

Dean threw a Cheeto at Sam’s face. It bounced off his cheek, leaving greasy orange dust in his five o’clock shadow. “Hey, wake up, sleeping beauty." Sam stirred in the seat beside him, blinking awake. He squinted out of the Impala’s windshield. 

“Where’s here?” He asked, his voice still raspy from sleep. 

“Wilkesboro, North Carolina.” Dean glanced around at the deserted road of I-40 as he fished another Cheeto out of the bag in his lap. “Also known as the middle of nowhere.” 

Sam blinked again, and reached for the half empty Styrofoam cup beside him. The coffee tasted terrible and smelled like a smoker's ass. He set the cup back down with a grimace. 

“Any chance we can get some food? Or some decent coffee at least?” 

“I don't know, man, I didn't do the prelim research on this one. If you wanted a fancy B&B, you should have told me cause all I’ve got is stale Cheetos.” 

Dean got off at the next exit, and it wasn’t long before the buildings they passed turned into a town. “Well isn't this a regular Mayberry.” There was a line of squat, one story buildings and not much else. There was a post office, a church, A Dollar Tree. And thankfully, halfway down the strip, a sign reading  _ Randy’s diner  _ in faded red cursive. 

Sam grabbed a stuffed folder from the floorboard. They honestly should get a tablet or something, stop deforestation and save his eyesight, but Dean was a crotchety old man when it came to tech, and Sam already did more than his share of research. 

Once they were seated inside, Dean asked, “So what's the story?” 

“Long story short: syphilis.” 

Dean cast a  _ you've got to be fucking with me _ look, his mouth moving soundlessly for a moment before saying, “We drove all the way from Florida for  _ syphilis _ ? I thought we were hunting a ghost, not the clap.” 

“The clap's gonorrhea,” Sam said. “And that's the thing. The locals are saying that there's a ghost infecting everybody.” 

“Heard it all now,” Dean muttered. He changed his expression to a 100 watt smile as the waitress approached with two cups of coffee. “Thanks,Candace.” 

“No problem, hon. Y’all ready to order?” 

“You look like you know a good breakfast. Any suggestions?” 

“Randy’s special. It’s got everything you could want and then some.” 

“We’ll both take it,” Dean said, ignoring the look Sam shot him. 

Once she walked off, Sam continued. “Obviously a ghost can’t give people syphilis, but there have been some strange things happening- people are reporting hangings about town, but when police arrive, there’s never any bodies. This just gives us a reason to dig.” He handed a stapled packet to Dean. 

Dean whistled. “CDC?” 

“It’ll get us where we need to be,” Sam said. “There’s not been any “suspicious” deaths in the last few years, so the FBI seemed a little over the top.” 

Dean nursed his coffee, rubbing his eyes. “Alright, tell me.” 

“There’s a local legend. Basically, there was this guy named Tom Dula.” 

“Here you go, honey,” Candace was back, setting down Dean's plate, over piled with a steak, hash browns, toast, and what must have been half a dozen scrambled eggs. 

“Thanks,” he said, giving her that same smile he gave every waitress they encountered. Sam rolled his eyes as he shuffled their papers out of the way to clear his spot. 

“That looks like a lot of reading,” she commented, sliding Sam's plate across the table. 

“We're hoping to do some more at the library today,” Dean said. 

“Well I imagine your gonna be waitin’ awhile,” she said. 

“Is the library not open?” Sam asked, glancing at his watch. It was 9:45am on a Thursday. Not a holiday, unless he and Dean had forgotten about Thanksgiving again. 

She gave them a quick glance. “Y'all must not be from around here. The library's closed until Miss Mary gets back.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “She had to get treated, if you know what I mean.” 

They raised their eyebrows. She sighed. “This town sure is falling all apart.” Another customer came in. “But I shouldn't be airing nobody's dirty laundry. We've all got our burdens to bear, after all.” She scooped up Sam's coffee cup and topped it off before heading over to greet the new customer, who clearly was a regular. 

“So let’s hear the rest of it,” Dean said around a mouthful of food. 

Sam flipped through the folder. “Well, it started six months ago with a report of a syphilis outbreak, like I said. The weird thing is, this isn't their first outbreak.” 

“Is that weird?” Dean said. “I mean, no offense to Candace over there, but isn't that kind of common place in hick central?” 

“Well, maybe,” Sam said. “But not exactly every 22 years for the last 200 years.” 

Dean whistled. “That must be one bitch of an STD.” 

* * *

Their first stop, courtesy of Candace’s tip, was a visit to Miss Mary. A quick Google search ID’d her as Mary Thomas. Turned out she lived in a small house about a block from the library. A man was out front, cutting the grass. He was around Dean’s age, and well built, clearly accustomed to manual labor. He gave them a wave as they approached. 

“Morning!” He said, cutting off the mower. 

“Good morning,” Sam said. The grass was wet and stuck to the pavement leading up to the front porch. Dean and Sam, now both awkwardly outfitted in suits, moved towards him, but he put up a hand. 

“Hold your horses, I’ll come to you. Don’t want you to mess up those nice shoes.” They both glanced down, having forgotten the shiny black leather they were wearing.  “Y’all from out of town?” 

“We’re from the CDC,” Dean said smoothly. “I’m Dr. Benjamin and this is my associate Mr. Hamm Lovehandles.” 

The man squinted at them. “Lovehandles?” 

“It’s German,” Sam said, glaring at Dean. 

“Oh, of course,” the man said, like now it made sense. “I’m Tom.” 

“We’re here investigating a recent outbreak,” Sam said. “You wouldn’t happen to have heard of anything, would you?” 

The man flushed a bright red. “Uh, no, I don’t suppose I have.”

“Okay, let us know if you hear anything,” Dean said. “Here’s our card.” 

The man wiped his hand on his back pocket before reaching out to take it. For only a moment, they both held the card, and the man’s eyes flickered over Dean before taking the card and stuffing it into the back pocket of his jeans. 

“Thank you,” Dean said, his voice slightly higher than normal. Sam tried to suppress his snicker as they walked up to the door. “Shut up,” Dean snapped. 

The door opened after the first knock. Sam had no idea what Dean had been expecting, but Sam had been expecting a small, frail, elderly lady. Peals and glasses on a chain. Typical librarian stuff. And they had certainly met enough freaky old ladies that it wasn’t impossible to believe that they would run into one with an STD. 

Miss Mary was not a frail old lady. She was about forty with an uneven tan and a faded sun and moon tattoo, and she stood as tall as Sam did. 

In addition to talking with them, she also opened up the library for them. Sam stayed there to do more research while Dean went to talk with the only physician’s office in town. 

The family doctor was more than willing to talk to him. “I’ve done everything,” he said desperately. “I can contact some patients and see if they are willing to talk to you.” 

Dean left his card. He chatted with the receptionist for a few minutes before returning to the library. 

* * *

"We're probably dealing with a ghost from a murder. It's, like, famous around here," Sam said, scrolling down the Wikipedia article. "The folklore is that there was this twisted love triangle between this guy named Tom Dula and two cousins, Anne and Laura." 

"Wait, he was boning his cousins?" 

"No, Anne and Laura were cousins." 

"Yeesh." 

"Yeah, none of them sound like great people. Tom got around- especially around the Foster family. Had affairs in the church and everything. He was a Confederate soldier, and afterwards, legend goes he got Laura pregnant and convinced her to elope. Instead, she was stabbed to death, and Tom Dula was hanged for the murder." 

"Okay, so what? We've got a jilted lover on our hands." 

"Well there was more than one jilted lover. And Tom swore up until he died that he didn't do it. So honestly any or all of them could be causing the disturbance." 

Dean squinted at the screen. He raised his eyebrows. "There's a song?" 

"Apparently." 

"In the name of all that- wait a second, isn't that handyman we met named Tom?" 

"It's a pretty common name,” Sam said doubtfully. “What did you learn?” 

“The doctor’s going to send my information over to his patients. We’ll see if anyone bites. Spoke with the receptionist- there’s a Friday church service tomorrow evening.” 

“And?” 

“Two things you can guarantee people love in a small town,” Dean held up a finger,” one: unprotected sex, and two: church.” 

* * *

Most of the cars parked in front looked to be at least ten years old, but the gravel parking lot was packed. Neither Sam or Dean relished the idea of stepping into a church after everything they had been through, but it was part of the case. It looked like everyone else was already inside, which made sense because the service was supposed to have started five minutes ago. 

There was a sound behind them, and they both whirled around. 

“Cas!” Dean said. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said gravely. 

"What are  you  doing here, man?" Dean asked. 

"Why did you return to the site of a unbroken seal?" Cas said, moving incrementally closer to him. 

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Dean also was moving forward, almost unconsciously. 

Sam watched the exchange. It’s like they didn’t even realize they practically made out anytime they talked. “Hey, Cas,” he said dryly. 

Cas managed a nod in his direction before returning his attention to Dean. 

“This church is the site of one of the six hundred seals, but it was not one of the sixty six." 

“ We’re just here for a case.” 

“It should be fine,” Cas said, and then he was gone. 

“Angels have garbage manners,” Dean muttered. “Come on, let’s get inside.” 

**Author's Note:**

> The story of Tom Dula is real, as is the song, although I took a few artistic liberties with my version of events. On the off chance that someone from Wilkesboro reads this, I’m sorry for lowkey shitting on your town as well as my ignorance of actual local landmarks. Thanks for reading. For the horny readers, porn is in chapter 3.


End file.
